Blood and Steel
by mellowship
Summary: Post-6.08. Jason and Spencer share their views on Charles.


Blood and Steel

* * *

Post-6.08. Jason and Spencer share their views on Charles.

* * *

Jason sits stoically on his front porch, coffee mug gripped tight between his hands. It's unusually cold tonight, but he hardly notices. The scent of Starbuck's dark roast _should_ be permeating from the mug, but instead the air is filled with the bitter aroma of his father's scotch. Everything that has happened in the past few weeks – _months_ , even – has led him to this point.

Charles is real.

Charles is _alive_.

Ever since childhood, he'd been gaslit, led to believe he was crazy for speaking of memories of _Charlie_. The home video projected on his attic wall had confirmed it all. Sighing, Jason takes a sip from the mug. He barely winces as the liquid burns his throat. Recalling how close he'd been to seeing his brother again after all these years, he wants to cry. The girls got in the way.

 _They always get in the way_.

Leaves rustle in the distance, followed by the sound of gravel as footsteps make their way towards the DiLaurentis home. Jason doesn't bother to look up at the figure standing over him.

"Go home, Spencer." Jason leaves no room for interpretation.

The brunette doesn't move. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "For everything. I know how much you wanted to see him."

"Well, it's too late."

Spencer tucks wisp of hair behind her ear. She looks at him, eyes dark and wide. "I'm not so sure about that."

Jason lifts his eyes to her, furrows his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Can I sit?" she asks. Jason detects a slight edge to her voice.

He shrugs. Spencer takes that as a "yes" and sidles up next to him. He feels the thin girl shiver against his shoulder, and almost offers her his flannel. _Almost_ , because he's still really pissed about the opportunity lost. "So?" he asks, annoyed. He doesn't want to let on that _maybe_ there's still an ember of hope glowering in his mind.

"So Charles still wants us. All of us." Her expression is unreadable now as she stares out into the trees.

Jason follows her gaze to the outermost edge of the driveway. "How do you figure?" he asks. "The cops know he's my brother. If Charles shows up again, he's going to get arrested." He takes a long sip from his mug. "Face it, Spencer. It's over."

The brunette hugs her knees to her chest. Drops her chin. "That's the thing, Jason," she says. "No one knows what Charles looks like as adult. We could be interacting with him in broad daylight and we'd never even realize it."

Silence falls over the two as Jason contemplates her words. Moonlight spills across the tall trees, the rocky gravel, and for a brief moment, he thinks that Rosewood might be a beautiful place if it weren't so full of pain. After a minute or two, Jason senses Spencer looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "Are you drinking?" she asks. Her voice is void of accusation. In fact, it sounds downright exhausted.

Cheeks prickling with heat, Jason shrugs. "Maybe."

Unexpectedly, Spencer doesn't lecture him, doesn't tell him what an _idiot_ he is. Instead, she does something very un-Spencer-like. "May I?" she asks, gesturing to the mug. "It's been a long night."

"Uh, sure," he replies, slightly taken-aback. As the mug exchanges hands, Jason notices that the brunette is chewing her lip anxiously. "If you bite any harder, you're gonna take off the whole thing."

Spencer takes a long, drawn-out sip. She coughs, scrunches her nose. "That wouldn't be the worst thing to happen tonight," she mutters.

"What happened? Does it involve Charles?" Jason wants to know. Needs to know.

Spencer nods. She tells about the pictures in the gallery, how instead of Aria's photographs of dolls, the curtain had been lifted to reveal images of the four girls lying unconscious on stainless steel corpse carts, naked save for stiff, hospital-grade sheets draped over their mid-sections.

Jason is horrified, but he can't help but feel a disconnect between the monster who kidnapped his half-sister and her friends and the apple-cheeked boy who once giggled happily into a camcorder on his birthday. He opens his mouth, compelled to defend his brother, but the stricken expression on Spencer's face stops him.

"I know what you're going to say," she murmurs. "If I were you, I'd probably feel the same way. But the Charles I know doesn't earn my sympathy." Jason waits in silence as she takes another drink. "The things he did to us in the bunker, I'll never forget. None of us will. Those pictures are proof."

Jason, he feels another body-wracking shiver come over Spencer. This time, he peels off his flannel and drapes it over her thin frame, suddenly not feeling so angry. Spencer smiles. "Thanks," she says softly.

Inhaling deeply, Jason rests his elbows on his knees with hands clasped. "I just don't get it," he admits. "Why would Charles do any of this? He was just a kid, Spence. He was so happy in that video Ali and I watched. It just doesn't make sense."

Spencer looks off into the distance again, mind a million miles away. She's quiet for a long time, and Jason stays silent with her, not wanting to push her. Finally, she speaks. "Charles made me do awful things, Jason," Spencer murmurs. "To myself, and maybe even to others. He watched me. Commanded me. And when I wouldn't do what he wanted, he hurt me in ways you couldn't even imagine." A chill runs down Jason's spine as the brunette turns to him, eyes eerily vacant. "I might hide it well, but the truth is that a part of me died in that bunker," Spencer confesses. "That kid in the video? He died, too."

For once, Jason doesn't offer an explanation, doesn't argue. There's no excuse. He just knows that he's hurting and Spencer's hurting, and it really fucking sucks. Sliding an arm around her shoulder, he gives Spencer a little shake. "Hey," he says, "don't think about that place, okay? You're home."

"Yeah," Spencer responds, "but I won't be for long if Charles gets his way."

"You're not going anywhere, Spence," Jason says firmly. "They're gonna catch him. It's just a matter of time." He then surveys Spencer, not wanting to upset her with his next words. "I just hoped…"

She already knows. "I know, and we messed that up. We've been fooled by Charles so many times over the years and we just didn't want that to happen to you."

Jason nods. "Just know that it's not a matter of justifying what he did. He deserves everything coming his way." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "Let's face it, though. He didn't become this monster on his own. He has a story, Spence, and I need to know what it is."

"I get it. All endings need a proper explanation. I just want you to be safe."

Relief floods Jason's veins. "Thanks for understanding."

"Thank _you_ for listening." Spencer tips the mug to the sky and finishes off what's left. "And for the booze," she adds, handing the empty mug to Jason.

He peers into it, sees straight to the bottom. "Didn't take you for a scotch kinda girl," he replies, an amused lilt in his voice.

"After tonight, I should drink it exclusively."

Jason shakes his head. "Nah," he says, "don't be like me, Spence. You're better than that."

"We're blood, Jay. Wired the same, remember?" Spencer says with a sheepish grin.

Chuckling, Jason answers, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Spencer pauses in thought, expression growing more serious. "What do you think about going to a couple of meetings together this week?"

"Um… yeah," he answers, surprised. "Yeah, sure. That's actually a really good idea."

"Talk about unconventional sibling bonding."

Quirking a brow in amusement, Jason shrugs. "Our family's a little unconventional."

Spencer laughs. "Understatement of the year." Standing up, she slips off Jason's flannel and hands it to him. "I should probably get home. My mom's probably freaking out after what happened at the gallery."

"Alright. I can walk you over if you want."

She smiles. "Thanks, but I think the key to not being scared anymore is taking the first step. On my own."

"Definitely. Night, Spencer."

"Night, Jason." She starts walking towards the Hastings home, then stops. Turns around. "I mean it about the meetings, you know. Let's do it."

"Me too."

And then she's gone.

Stretching his arms to the sky, he leans back, basks in the night breeze sweeping through his hair.

Things might turn out okay after all. At least he hopes.


End file.
